


Darksaber

by Glare



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse Not Between Main Pairing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Deception, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Gaslighting, Graphic Violene, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, padme still dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-01-06 21:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18397070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare
Summary: In a galaxy balanced on the edge of war, the actions of a lone assassin will change the course of history forever. Identification and apprehension of this villain falls on the shoulders of newly Knighted Anakin Skywalker, but everything is not quite what it seems in the Republic, in the Confederacy, and in the Jedi Order itself. In the end, everything slides toward chaos, and sometimes the true enemy is the one you least expect.





	1. The Phantom Menace: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Back on my bullshit & ready to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concerning the abuse tags: while they fall under the usual purview of what I typically write, for the purposes of this fic, they are NOT in reference to the main Obi/Ani ship.

The halls of the Naboo palace are quiet. It’s not peaceful, the way it might be on another, less important day. Instead, this silence carries a great weight. Grand stained glass murals of rulers past stare down into the empty halls and out across the city, as though watching over the battlefield that would decide the fate of their legacy. Win or lose, the galaxy will be forever changed. The only thing left to decide is the fate of their people within it.

Anakin knows a thing or two about legacy. He’s nine years old, and the first Skywalker to call himself free. He’s the youngest and only human winner of the Boonta’s Eve Classic podrace. Soon, if Master Jinn and the Jedi Council are to be believed, he will become a Jedi himself. He carries the weight of these legacies on his shoulders, and feels as though those great glass eyes are watching him as he goes, creeping down the long, empty halls and avoiding their cold stares as much as he can. They feel like the eyes of the freemen on Tatooine, like the eyes of the Jedi Council as they considered him, judging his worth to them.

In truth, Anakin knows he is not meant to be here. He hears it whispered in the air around him, a quiet plea to turn back. He feels the pressure on his shoulders, and his hips, and his legs, like invisible hands tugging at the over-large tunics he’s been leant and trying to stop him—trying to guide him back to the quiet corner of the hanger that he came from. Back to the place Qui-Gon Jinn had hidden him and, with a stern voice, commanded him to remain no matter what he heard or saw. Back to safety, and ignorance. Back to where Anakin knows he should be.

But there is something under Anakin’s skin that has always thirsted for knowledge. In the quiet of Tatooine nights, he had pulled apart the machines of Watto’s junkyard just to put them back together again. To learn where every edge met, every wire connected, every plate screwed in, until he knew them better than he knew himself. Huttese and Basic fall easily from his tongue, Binary as natural to him as any spoken language. On Tatooine, he had nothing but this knowledge. It was the only thing his slave masters could never take from him. It was the only thing he could ever call truly his.

It is only natural that he chases knowledge even here, in pursuit of the figure caught slinking through the hanger in the direction Master Jinn and the monster he faced had disappeared. Its red armor stood out against the greys of the walls and the yellows of the ships left grounded. It drew Anakin’s eyes, his attention, his curiosity, and he only hesitated the barest of moments before following it out of the room.

There is something about it that draws him, a whisper of connection to counter the harsh words telling him to turn back. Like something familiar, distorted. Like peering through the pane of a broken window, and seeing the landscape beyond fractured and warped. Even though he can not see the figure, dare not get close enough to alert it of his presence, he can feel it. He hears the call and feels that connection and follows, navigating the unfamiliar halls as confidently as he had Tatooine’s dusty streets.

He’s not sure what to call them, these whispers, but he thinks it might be the Force that Master Jinn spoke of. Now that he knows what it is, now that he’s opened himself purposefully up to it, he can not close the doors again. It flows into him, through him, like a great river. A piece of himself he never realized he was missing.

It’s disconcerting, when he steps into the cool, stale air or a maintenance shaft, and they suddenly go silent. The connection cut as abruptly as it came, Anakin sways unsteadily at the top of the stairwell, peering down into the dark below. He is certain the armored figure went this way, but uncertain now that he no longer has a trail to follow. The figure could have certainly caught on to his presence. It could be waiting in the dark, intent on catching him by surprise and disposing of any witnesses to its presence with in the palace.

Surely the armored figure had not desired to be seen, let alone followed. Anakin noticed, in their wandering, that it had selected the halls with even the fewest service droids to bear witness to its passing. It had waited until the hanger cleared, until Padawan Kenobi left for the battlefield, until Master Jinn challenged the monster and took the fighting elsewhere to even make its move. It would surely not appreciate Anakin stalking it through the palace.

Still, as he stands at the top of the stair, Anakin knows he can not stop here. There is something else down there, like two bright lights within the Force. Master Jinn, he suspects, and the monster he from his dreams. Taking the first step is the hardest, each coming easier as he descends into the darkness. He may not be able to see, but he trusts his remaining senses to help him safely to to the bottom of the stairwell.

From there, he keeps to the wall, slinking through the dark passage toward the direction of Master Jinn’s light. It is not quite as easy to pinpoint as the armored figure’s strange song, but strong enough to guide Anakin along until the passage opens to a wide room with a large incinerator pit at its center. This must be the right place, Anakin thinks, and squeezes himself into one of the many outcroppings in the wall to wait.

He hears the clash of lightsabers before he sees them—the black and red monster first, then Master Jinn. They are separated by a ray shield initially, but Jinn quickly pushes forward into the room once the shield is lifted. While the walkway around the pit is not terribly wide, it still allows the Jedi Master more room to maneuver than the hall. Anakin pushes himself further into the shadow of the alcove, the combat much closer than he had anticipated.

Even from his hiding place, Anakin can tell that Master Jinn is tiring. His opponent is younger, faster, and stronger. He meets Master Jinn’s blade easily with the dual red ends of his own weapon, backing him toward the edge of the incinerator with every vicious hack, slash, and strike. It is only Master Jinn’s experience that protects him, focus on his opponent distracting him from the danger looming so close behind. Sweat gleams on his brow, his arms shaking with the strain of exertion.

Anakin knows what will happen before it does, his heart leaping into his throat as a particularly violent clash of weapons sends Master Jinn stumbling backwards—only this time, there is nowhere for him to go. His foot falls through empty space, and Anakin watches with morbid fascination as the realization of what is to come flickers across the Jedi Master’s face. Fear, despair, resignation in the span of a heartbeat before Jinn tumbles backwards and is swallowed by the pit.

“No!” Anakin shrieks, stepping out of his hiding spot, and freezes at the horror of revealing himself.

The monster turns then, the red blades of his lightsaber still engaged, and the scowl he fixes Anakin with keeps him paralyzed even as the creature takes a step toward him, and another. As black lips curl into a wicked grin lined with sharp, yellowed teeth. He can not bring himself to move, can not bring himself to run, frozen like a bantha in the headlights of an oncoming speeder. Is this truly how he is to die? Freed from a life of slavery only to be struck down like an animal elsewhere?

He would have at least liked to tell his mother goodbye.

But no, not in this moment. Behind the monster, a flash of beige leaps from the belly of the pit, the sound of a lightsaber igniting shrieks through the chamber, and the monster does not even have the chance to turn before the pale green of Master Jinn’s blade cleaves him through. Anakin watches, dumbfounded, as its face contorts with confusion. Its free hand come up to its belly, where blood has just begun to well, and then it topples over with two meaty thumps. Its lightsaber disengaged as it falls, rolling slowly away.

Anakin has seen death, seen mangled bodies pulled from the wreckage of podracers and slaves beaten in crowded courtyards, but he still gags at the sight before him. Of the monster, bisected at the waist, sprawled and twitching on the floor. Blood and entrails ooze from its split ends, filling the room with a metallic scent. It takes longer for it to die than Anakin likes, fighting for each gurgling breath until at last it spits up blood and goes still.

Master Jinn does not look away from it until then, blade poised and ready to strike should the creature reveal more tricks from up its sleeve. When the beast goes still, he disegnages his saber, shoulders slumping as he heaves a great sigh. There is exhaustion written in every line of his body, whatever trick he’d managed to save himself from the pit sapping the last of his strength. The fight had been hard, but he is victorious.

“You’re okay!” Anakin cries, nearly tripping over the corpse between them in his haste to get to the Jedi Master. Jinn kneels as he approaches, pulling Anakin up into his arms when the boy throws his own around the Master’s neck.

“Yes, i’m alright,” he soothes, and Anakin nuzzles blindly into the man’s shoulder, squeezing tighter for a moment to ground himself. It had been such a close call…

“I thought you were dead.”

Jinn sighs again. “Not today, young Skywalker. Today, the Force was with me.

“I thought I told you to wait upstairs,” Jinn begins to chide, but Anakin does not hear him.

That whisper, that connection, has sprung to life once again, so close and so loud that it drowns out everything but the erratic song sung by the Force.

“Master Jinn—” he chokes out, eyes wide and focused on the figure beyond the Jedi’s shoulder, which has slipped from the shadows of its own alcove and swiftly approaches.Jinn does not have time to turn to face their attacker before a crackling, black blade rips through his back and out the Jedi Master’s belly.

So close to him, Anakin can feel the heat of the blade. It had very nearly speared him through, as well. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks it odd that it did not. He can feel, along his side, where it grazed him—a burning sensation against the warm, sticky feeling of Master Jinn’s blood seeping into his robes—but the blade tilted in such a way as to avoid him. A stroke of luck, or something deliberate?

He is not given much time to consider it when the armored figure shoves Jinn off his blade, and Anakin falls from the Master’s grip. He’s dazed as he hits the ground, and watches from where he landed as Jinn stumbles until his legs give out from weakness. He crumbles to the floor, not bothering to try and break his fall. Instead his hands stay press to the hole in his stomach, as though that small gesture will somehow be enough to hold onto the life that's slowly seeping through his fingers and pooling on the floor in an ugly, ugly red.

Qui-Gon makes a weak effort of pushing himself upright, but he’s already lost so much blood. His hands slip on the wet floor, sending him toppling over onto his back; he does not try to get back up.

A sharp sob rips from Anakin’s lips as his mind catches up with his body, forcing himself to ignore his aches and pains until he falls to his knees next to Jinn and presses his own hands against the wound. He can feel the Master’s presence dimming in the Force despite the way the man desperately grasps for energy to heal himself. Anakin does not need the gift of prophetic dreams to know it is far too late for that.

  
“Sorry, Master Jinn,” the vocal modulator of the mask rumbles, and Anakin starts at its closeness. He did not notice the armored figure stepping forward, but he stands now at Anakin’s side, peering down at Master Jinn. “You can’t be allowed to win this one.”

For a moment, Anakin thinks he can see the faintest trace of a pair of sad eyes through the tinted visor, but then the man’s head tilts, the light changes, and he’s staring once again up at a cold, unfeeling mask. It is strange, but Anakin does not fear death in this moment the way he had with the monster from his dreams. He does not believe this person will kill him. As if to prove him correct, the armored figure flips the deactivator on his hilt, and the black, crackling blade of his lightsaber retreats.

He does not spare Anakin another glance, turning abruptly on his heel and striding back across the room, where the body of the monster Master Jinn defeated lay cleaved and bleeding upon the floor. He kneels beside it, head cocked just so, and Anakin can read something like mourning in the defeated hunch of his shoulders and the tumultuous stirring of the Force. Reaching out, surprisingly gentle for a man capable of such violence, he closes the monster’s eyes into a parody of sleep. “Be at peace, my old friend,” he murmurs, voice distorted by the harsh tones of the vocoder, “now that your spirit has returned to the Force.”

From there he rises, clearly intending to take his leave, and Anakin cannot bite back the curious, “Who are you?” that slips from his tongue.

The figure pauses, glancing back over his shoulder as though surprised by Anakin’s boldness. “I’m nobody, kid,” he replies. “Or maybe, i’m anybody. But you can call me the Mandalorian, if you wish.”

Anakin scowls, dissatisfied with the cryptic answer. “I’m going to stop you,” he declares, and feels resolve harden in his chest. He will not allow this crime to go unpunished. Anakin may not be strong enough now, but one day, Qui-Gon’s killer will face justice by his hand.

The Mandalorian must feel it, too, through this strange connection they share. He lets out a laugh made harsh and barking by the modulator, and turns all the way around to face him. “You’re welcome to try, Skywalker.” He purrs, and Anakin feels his temper spike at the swift dismissal of his challenge. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

With that, he turns once more and walks away, slipping back into the shadows as swiftly as he’d come. Anakin’s attention returns to Master Jinn’s cooling body, on the blood tacky on his palms, and does not consider how the armored man may have come to know his name.

 


	2. The Phantom Menace: Part Two

“I know what I saw,” Anakin grumbles, staring through the window of their guest quarters and out into the city of Theed.

Already repair work has begun on the damaged architecture, the resilient Naboo people following the lead of their steadfast queen and proving to the galaxy that they are strong enough to survive the horrors that have befallen them. Ladders and scaffolding are propped against the damaged buildings, gardens torn up to be replanted anew. Citizens and officials alike scurry through the streets, preparing for the evening’s parade to celebrate their grand victory. Anakin wishes he could be as happy as they are, their fears eliminated with the destruction of the droid controller ship, but the wound on his side still twinges and the ghost of the Mandalorian’s challenge still rings in his ears.

A pair of hands settles on his shoulders, turning him gently away from the window to face their owner. Obi-Wan Kenobi kneels before him, the sad smile on his face mirrored by the exhaustion in his eyes. Anakin knows he has not slept well in the days since Qui-Gon’s death, and knows Obi-Wan blames himself for not being able to save his Jedi Master. When Anakin wakes from nightmares surrounding the invasion, Obi-Wan is always already there to comfort him. Anakin has not had the strength to ask if there is anything he can do for Obi-Wan, yet. “We’ve been over this before, Anakin,” the Knight says, squeezing Anakin’s shoulders gently. “The Jedi Council, the Naboo Security Forces—they’ve reviewed the footage from the incinerator. There was no one else there.”

“But I saw him!” Anakin protests. “He was there! He hurt me!”

Taking hold of the hem of his tunics, Anakin pulls them up to expose the healing wound on his side. The cut from the Mandalorian’s lightsaber had only been superficial, the worst of his injury coming from the resulting plasma wounds, but the medical team at the palace say it will likely scar. That does not bother Anakin; he already has lots of scars. This one will serve as a reminder of the Mandalorian’s crimes, and of the promise Anakin made the masked man down in the belly of the palace.

Yet despite the vehemence behind his words, Obi-Wan appears unmoved. The Knight bats his hands away and begins to gently straighten Anakin’s rumpled clothes. Already he has put Anakin through a proper water bath—something he had never experienced before—and attempted to wrestle him into some semblance of neatness several times through the afternoon. After the parade will be Qui-Gon’s funeral, and the new Knight has insisted they look their best. “No one is saying you didn’t see him, Anakin. What i’m saying is that the security tapes did not capture him.”

Anakin scowls, but does not fight against the man’s fussing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Sith are dangerous,” Obi-Wan patiently explains, smoothing down the wrinkles in Anakin’s tabards. “They have a way of messing with our heads—making us see and fear things that aren’t real. You’re young, and easily influenced.”

“You think the Sith made me see the Mandalorian?”

Obi-Wan nods. “I do. According to the tapes, even though Master Jinn was fatally wounded, he was still able to strike down the Sith in his final moments. But if the Sith could make us believe another enemy lay in wait, he could still win. He could have us chasing our tails for months even after his fall.”

It makes a certain amount of sense. Anakin can recognize that even as Obi-Wan finishhes his work, patting Anakin’s shoulders with a satisfied flourish. Through the Force, he had felt connection: the song that rang in his ears whenever the Mandalorian was around. Was that the work of the Sith, messing with his head? Making him see a man that wasn’t really there?

The thought has plagued him ever since Obi-Wan first told him what they’d seen in the tapes, doubt creeping into the corners of his mind. He had always had his head in the clouds, his mother would say, but not enough to be manipulated in such a way as the Council and Obi-Wan imply. Besides, that song in his head? It is not the first he has heard. He heard it when he first met Obi-Wan, and the Jedi Council on Coruscant. Each one had their own tune, their own melody within the Force. Anakin could hear all of them, as he can still hear Obi-Wan’s now.

No, Anakin refuses to accept such an explanation. He knows what he saw, and when Obi-Wan turns away, distracted by a knock at the door, Anakin digs his fingers into the wound on his side and relishes in the pain that races through him. The tapes may show something different than Anakin saw, but nothing on them can explain how his wound came to be. As long as it exists, he will know what he saw was real. The Mandalorian was there, and if he tells enough people, someone will finally have to believe him.

It may not happen as fast as he would like, but it will have to be good enough.

The door opening draws Anakin from his introspection, admitting a tall, severe-looking man dressed in what Anakin has come to recognize as traditional Jedi garb. Their dark browns and black contrast sharply to the pale creams and tans of Obi-Wan’s own robes. His hair and neatly-trimmed beard are greying, with dark brown eyes beneath the set of thick eyebrows.

“Ah, Master Dooku,” Obi-Wan greets, a fondness to his tone that suggests familiarity. “We weren’t expecting you. I thought you were back on Coruscant?”

“I was,” the man, Dooku, says, “I’ve only just arrived. I came as soon as I heard the news of Qui-Gon’s passing; I wished to be present for the funeral pyre.”

“Well, you’ve arrived just in time,” Obi-Wan replies, that sad smile returning to his face. “Please, come in. I’m sure you’ve had a long trip.”

Anakin shuffles awkwardly in his place by the window as the two men make their way into the room, waiting for Obi-Wan to give him some sign as for what to do. On some occasions, Obi-Wan has allowed him to stay during his conversations with the Council or the various officials that come and go from their quarters, but others have seen Anakin shooed into his room to offer the man some semblance of privacy. He does not know which category this conversation with Master Dooku will fall into.

As though on cue, Obi-Wan beckons for him, gesturing for Anakin to join them at the lounge set they’ve settled into. “Anakin, there’s someone I would like you to meet,” Obi-Wan explains as Anakin selects a seat on the couch at his side. “This is Jedi Master Dooku. Master Jinn was his Padawan, before he was Knighted.”

“And you are?” Dooku asks, politely pleasant.

“Anakin Skywalker,” Anakin answers, only for Obi-Wan to quickly interject.

“Padawan Anakin Skywalker,” the Knight gently corrects.

Dooku’s brows raise in surprise. “A Padawan, at his age? Who is teaching him?”

“I am,” Obi-Wan replies, his chin tilting up in a show of bravado Anakin isn’t sure he entirely feels. “I’ve petitioned the Council to take Anakin as my first student.”

“You’ve only just been Knighted, Obi-Wan,” the Jedi Master chides. “Don’t you think you may be too young to consider training a student of your own?”

“On the contrary,” Obi-Wan argues. “Having so recently been a Padawan myself, I believe I will be able to anticipate and aid Anakin in the struggles a young student may face better than a Knight or Master far estranged from their own Padawan years.”

“Even still, I am surprised the Council allowed such a thing.”

“It was Qui-Gon’s wish to train Anakin once I was knighted. Now that he is gone, it only makes sense that I teach him in my Master’s stead.”

Master Dooku hums thoughtfully at his words, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair he sits in. A tense silence briefly falls upon the room, leaving Anakin fiddling with his thumbs and staring pointedly at the ground. When he glances up, he can see Obi-Wan and Master Dooku staring one another down. The ground is a much safer option, until Obi-Wan abruptly breaks the silence.

“I’m afraid i’m due for a meeting to help prepare Qui-Gon’s body for the funeral,” he announces with a quick glance at his chronometer. “I was going to leave Anakin here and have a guard sent to watch him, but perhaps if you have nothing else to attend to, you would not be opposed to doing so?”

“Not at all,” Master Dooku replies, standing when Obi-Wan does. “It would be nice to get to know my new great grand-padawan.”

“Thank you.”

The men clasp hands briefly before Obi-Wan turns to Anakin, kneeling in front of him to meet his eyes. “You’ll behave for Master Dooku, yes?” He asks, though there is a teasing lilt to his tone that suggests he already knows Anakin will.

“Of course,” Anakin answers.

The smile Obi-Wan offers him is perhaps the first genuine one Anakin has seen in some days, and it warms his chest to think they they can perhaps get through this together. “Good boy. I will see you tonight, then.”

With that, Obi-Wan stands, gathering his cloak from where it hangs over the back of the couch and throwing it on. He offers them a last wave before he departs, sweeping out of the room to attend to more pressing things, and leaving Anakin alone with Master Dooku. Silence falls over the room yet again, and Anakin resumes staring fixedly at the floor. He can feel Dooku’s eyes upon him, but can not bring himself to meet them just yet.

“I hope you do not think me suspicious of your suitability to for padawanship. It was not my intention; I can feel your strength in the Force even now,” Master Dooku says suddenly, startling Anakin into looking up at him. “My only concerns are for Obi-Wan, and his suitability to take a student.”

“Obi-Wan is smart, and strong, and he cares about me.”

“Obi-Wan has only just been Knighted. He has not yet had a chance to go out into the galaxy on his own, to see what it has to offer and make his own decisions without the influence of another. It is a critical time in a young Jedi’s life, to grow as an individual and discover who they are.”

“You think i’m holding him back?”

Dooku frowns. “I didn’t say that.”

He didn’t say it, but Anakin knows he means it. This time, when he meets the old Master’s eyes, it’s with a spark of challenge. “Maybe Obi-Wan is confident in taking a student because he already knows who he is.”

“Perhaps…” the Master muses, giving Anakin a once over. His frown deepens, attention falling on Anakin’s side. “You’re bleeding.”

Anakin lifts his arms, twisting to see that the fabric above his wound soaked through with blood. It seems when he aggravated his injury, he’d pressed a little too hard, rupturing the scab covering the worst of the cut. “Oh…”

The Jedi Master is already moving, having spotted an earlier discarded first aid kit on a nearby side table. He collects it and quickly returns while Anakin shucks off his tabbards and tunic, poking curiously at the now-stained bandage plastered to his side. When he first left Tatooine—it feels so long ago, strangely—he had been shy when it came to strangers touching him. Before then, only his mother had really touched him in any friendly way. Since leaving, however, so many strangers have worked on him that he seems to become desensitized to it.

“Were you involved in the conflict?” Dooku asks when he returns, carefully peeling away the soiled bandage and revealing the wound beneath. It oozes blood sluggishly, the edges raised and red. Anakin frowns at it, and at the bitter reminder of his earlier thoughts.

“No,” he says stiffly, looking away when Dooku begins to clean it. “I was with Master Jinn when he died.”

“I was unaware there was a witness to his death.”

Anakin grimaces, both at the subject and the sting of antiseptic. “The Council does not consider me one.”

“Why not?”

“Because what I saw was different from what the security recordings show.”

“Oh?” Dooku asks, pausing in his work. “And what did you see?”

“I-I saw a man,” Anakin begins hesitantly. He does not see the point of getting his hopes up when no one has believed him, but the expression Dooku turns on him is open, curious. “He called himself the Mandalorian. He had red armor, and a black lightsaber like nothing i’d ever seen.”

“And he attacked you?”

“Not directly. He killed Master Jinn, and I just happened to be in the way.”

The Jedi Master nods solemnly, returning his focus to Anakin’s wounds. “And you said the Council does not believe you...What of Obi-Wan?”

“He agrees with the Council…he thinks the Sith was messing with my head.”

Smoothing down the last of the new bandage, Dooku asks, “And what do you think?”

Anakin’s brow furrows as he considers the question. He has a lot of thoughts about that day, about what happened in the incinerator. Most of the possibilities he doesn’t want to consider, but there is one that stands out among the rest. “I think someone tampered with the security tapes. I think what I saw was real, and everyone else is seeing what the enemy wants them to see.”

“How are you certain?”

When Dooku slips Anakin’s tunic over his head, he catches the edge of the fabric before the Jedi Master can pull it down to cover his wound. “There is no explanation for this on those tapes.”

He allows the fabric to fall down into is place as Dooku silently considers his words, tucking the tunic back into his pants and adjusting his tabards to they cover the worst of the staining. He does not have another set of clothes to change into, beyond the too-baggy outfit Obi-Wan had leant him, after his first set was was destroyed with his injury. The Knight will likely be disappointed with his unkempt appearance, but it is the best that Anakin can do.

Before him, Dooku rises to his feet, offering Anakin a hand to help him off the couch. “I agree that this is a very strange matter,” the Master muses. “Come, walk with me, and tell me more of this Mandalorian. I will help you get to the bottom of this, and i’m sure you have questions for me...”

They will walk the grounds of Palace of Theed, discussing the things Anakin saw in the incinerator and reminiscing on stories of Qui-Gon’s Padawan years. That night, at the funeral pyre, Anakin will stand between Dooku and Obi-Wan and feel hopeful that he may see Qui-Gon Jinn’s killer to justice far sooner than he originally expected. But after the pyre, when Dooku asks Obi-Wan to walk with him, Obi-Wan comes back to their room alone and enraged. He will not tell Anakin what the Master said, but he understands that it was not a pleasant conversation.

When Anakin stares up at Master Dooku’s bust among the other Lost Jedi, Anakin wonders if it was him that drove the Master from this path. If Dooku had ever truly believed him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next time!


	3. Attack of the Clones: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit late. We had a Very Important Inspection at work yesterday, which was causing a lot of stress and eating up a lot of my time. But we passed! So here’s to not having to do it again for another two years!

The light of Coruscant’s sun spills in through the transparisteel of the lift as the car slowly rises, casting the men standing within in its warm glow. They are alone in the car, a rarity in the senatorial apartment complex, but they are grateful for the solitude.

“Are you sure about this, Master?” Padawan Anakin Skywalker asks, glancing up from the corner of his eye at the Knight beside him. The sunlight catches in the man’s auburn hair, setting it alight like a halo of fire. The first beginnings of a beard are growing on his chin in a patchy, thin layer. A recent endeavor. Anakin knows his Master feels his young face is inappropriate for his station, and hopes the facial hair will assist in taking away some of his seemingly permanent youthfulness. “I thought I wasn’t ready for a solo assignment.”

“Of course you’re ready for a solo assignment, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs, soft and fond and perhaps a bit resigned. “I confess, you have been ready to strike out on your own for quite some time now. I have simply held off on admitting as such to the Council because…well…I do worry.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi? Worry?” Anakin asks, a teasing lilt to his voice as he leans over in the small space and bumps his Master’s shoulder with his own. “Who would have ever guessed?”

Obi-Wan huffs, shoving at Anakin weakly. “Oh, hush. I have spoken the Council on your behalf. We are in agreement that you are prepared to face your Trials and achieve the rank of full Jedi Knight.”

For a moment, Anakin is unsure whether he heard his Master correctly. Obi-Wan? Recommending him for the Trials? It is almost too much to believe. But there is an anxious, uncertain frown twitching at his Master’s lips with Anakin’s prolonged silence, and the man begins cautiously, “However, if you do not feel you are ready, I would not be offended if you wished to remain a padawan—”

“No!” Anakin squawks suddenly, startling the man. “No. I just—you surprised me, is all. I thought for sure I was going to remain a padawan forever, if you had your way.”

Obi-Wan huffs, put-upon. “If you’d recall, I was Master Jinn’s padawan until I was twenty-five. I hardly think nineteen constitutes forever, Anakin.”

“Maybe not to you, but not all of us can be so patient, Master.”

“Patience is a virtue, Anakin; one you will have to demonstrate if you wish to pass your Trials.”

The padawan groans at the familiar reminder, crossing his arms over his chest and biting at his lower lip as he considers his situation. “Is this mission a test, then?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirms. “If all goes well, you will take the Trails.”

“And if not?”

“Well,” he replies, a spark of mischief in his eyes, “you always have six more years to try again.” At Anakin’s insulted squawk, Obi-Wan settles a hand on his shoulder. “Though I doubt that will be necessary, padawan. I have complete faith in you.”

There is an honesty in his voice that chases the air from Anakin’s lungs. In its place, Anakin feels heat and a tightness he can’t explain. It would be a lie to say he never worried that his late start to Jedi training would hinder him. That he spent restless nights wondering whether he was living up to Master Jinn’s wishes. There is something liberating in Obi-Wan’s admission, and the confirmation that he was doing something right. Especially after the rough beginnings to their partnership.

It is nearly enough to settle the butterflies in his stomach about the mission. Almost, but not quite, and Anakin runs a restless hand down his tunics, failing to smooth out the wrinkles he sees there in comparison to Obi-Wan’s own perfect uniform.

Obi-Wan watches him from the corner of his eye. “Are you nervous, padawan? You’re sweating.”

“Do I look okay?”

When his Master smiles, it is an indulgent thing. “You look fine, Anakin,” he sighs. “I hardly understand what has you so worked up.”

“It’s just...this will be the first time Padme and I have seen each other in almost ten years.”

“You’ve called each other weekly during that time.”

Anakin groans, shuffling anxiously as the lift comes to a stop on their designated floor. “That’s not the same thing, Master.”

“Relax, Anakin,” Obi-Wan soothes. “I think Senator Amidala is going to be delighted to see the man you’ve become. A few stubborn wrinkles aren’t going to change that.”

Anakin sighs, resigned, but ceases in his fussing as the lift doors slide open. He knows Obi-Wan is right. While their conversations had been limited to a short holocall or two a week, he and Padme had remained close since the Battle of Naboo. Talking eagerly about Anakin’s new life at the Temple, and Padme’s rule on her home planet. She serves as an acting senator now, despite her subjects’ best attempt to convince her to stay on as their queen. They had gone so far as to attempt to change their constitution in order to allow her continued reign. Padme had, of course, declined, but had not stayed out of the political arena very long. She is a public servant at heart.

It is one of the many things he loves about her.

Striding into the upscale apartment, he and Obi-Wan are greeted with the delighted cry of, “Ani!”

Anakin is vaguely aware of Obi-Wan stepping away from his side, but his focus is entirely on the woman striding quickly across the apartment to greet them. Padme Amidala has grown in the years they’ve been apart: a woman, now, just as Anakin has grown into his own man. Her silver dress flows behind her as she walks; her long, brown hair curls in loose ringlets around her shoulders. She was clearly in the process of getting ready when they arrived, and Anakin feels his heart flutter helplessly in his chest that their arrival had warranted interruption of what he knows to be a grueling routine.

There is a bright grin on her face, a delighted giggle spilling from her lips, when they finally connect. Anakin sweeps her up off her feet and twirls her in a albeit childish hug, but he cannot bring himself to be embarrassed with such delight bubbling up in his chest. They speak so often, but it seems like they have been separated forever, and he is hesitant to release her now that he has her in his arms. Padme seems to feel the same, as she does not try to wiggle out of the hug even when Anakin sets her down. Instead, she leans her head against his shoulder and her body more solidly against his own. He relishes in the warmth of her, and the trust she displays in him. Their reunion almost makes all those years apart worth it.

An awkward cough that breaks them apart, looking away from each other and to the third party in the room. Obi-Wan stands just off to their side, a soft flush to his face and his eyes averted from the young couple. “It is nice to see you again, Senator,” he says, offering Padme hand while staring fixedly out the windows that line the whole apartment.

She steps out of Anakin’s arms to shake Obi-Wan’s hand, and he immediately misses her presence there. “You as well, Master Kenobi.”

It is only now that they’ve separated that Obi-Wan will look a them, his eyes darting nervously over once, twice, before finally settling on the young pair. Anakin isn’t entirely surprised by the behavior, despite the guilt that twinges at Obi-Wan’s clear discomfort. The Jedi Order teaches love and compassion, but in the same breath warns the dangers of attachment and how it can lead good Jedi to the Dark Side, despite their best intentions. Obi-Wan was raised on such lectures, contrary to Anakin’s childhood with his mother. While he is willing to bend the rules to accommodate Anakin’s needs for contact and connection, such open displays of affection are still a source of discomfort for his Master. Anakin appreciates everything Obi-Wan has done to make his transition to Jedi life easier, from conversations with Padme to the occasional spotty call to his mother, who’d married and been freed since Anakin left. He would be punished, if the Council knew, but still he’d broken the rules for Anakin...

“I’m sure you’ve already been informed on why we’ve come,” Obi-Wan says, launching into the matter at hand. He gestures toward the lounge set beneath the windows of one half of the room, and the small group makes their way over to them.

Padme sighs, sinking down into the deep cushions. Anakin settles on one side of her, Obi-Wan on the other. “My vote against the creation of a standing army…”

He nods. “Indeed. There have now been several credible threats made against your life. The Jedi Order has agreed, at behest of your party, to intervene on behalf of your safety.”

“I’m not afraid of a few threats,” Padme sharply retorts.

“No, i’m sure you’re not,” Obi-Wan says, “but the vote is still several weeks away, and tempers are running high. As more and more planets cede to the Confederacy, there is a very real fear that the galaxy could spiral into a civil war.”

“The creation of an army will only serve to make things worse! It is not an act of peace—it is an act of war!”

“Padme…” Anakin attempts to soothe, but only seems to rile her further.

“No! The Republic can not survive a civil war!” She snaps, as impassioned here in the quiet of her apartment as the is on the Senate floor. “Already the galaxy is full of suffering people. A war will only bring unnecessary destruction, waste, and loss of life. The credits used to fund this theoretical army would be better spent on relief efforts, especially in the underdeveloped regions of the Outer Rim. If the Chancellor would only send someone to speak to the leader of the Confederacy, someone who would listen and truly wished to negotiate—”

“Senator,” Obi-Wan interrupts, his hands raised placatingly, “you hardly need to argue your point to us. The Jedi desire a war just as much as you do.”

“Yeah,” Anakin hastens to agree, taking one of her hands in both of his. “We’ve all seen what war did to your people. We want to help you cast your vote against the army. We’re just concerned for your safety, until then.”

It must be enough to calm the worst of her temper, because Padme sighs, settling once again into her chair and squeezing Anakin’s hand. She flashes him a small smile, weary is appreciative, and he thinks the stress of the upcoming vote must be wearing on her more than he originally thought. There are bags under her eyes he hadn’t noticed, at first, and a perpetual wrinkle to her brow. “What is the Order proposing?” She asks.

“The Council has proposed that you, and a Jedi escort, return to a safe location on your home planet until shortly before the vote. They believe it will be safer for you there than here, on Coruscant,” Obi-Wan supplies. “There, you will have access to more of your security forces, and those former handmaidens who still serve you. More eyes is more ground covered, and a lesser likelihood of an assassin slipping by unnoticed.”

“And what Jedi would be escorting me? You, Master Kenobi? And Anakin?”

“No, I will not be accompanying you on your journey. Anakin alone will be escorting you, while I seek out more information here on Coruscant pertaining to the threats made against your life.”

Padme’s brows jump, and Anakin has to bite down on his tongue to keep from making a rash comment when she asks, “Is the Council certain? Isn’t he just a padawan learner?”

“Anakin has grown into a fine Jedi of his own right,” Obi-Wan assures, loosening the knot of irritation in Anakin’s chest. “The Council believes him more than capable of providing you with Jedi protection. Do you have somewhere in mind that you might go?”

She nods. “The lake house at Varykino…it’s a remote retreat, but very beautiful. It should serve as an an adequate place to ride out the danger.”

“Good. I’ll inform the Council that we’ve come to an agreement, and make the appropriate travel arrangements. Anakin can assist you in packing your things, in the meantime?”

“That would be wonderful,” Padme agrees, and Obi-Wan offers them both a nod before rising from the couch and making his way back toward the turbolift. It would be a lie to say Anakin is not grateful for the obvious gift of privacy the man is offering them. The com reception is fine within the building, and there is no need for hiding secret plans from those who will be traveling them.

“I’m sorry if it sounded like I doubted you,” Padme says softly when the lift doors close behind Obi-Wan. “It was not my intention. I was simply under the impression that a Jedi and their student always travelled together.”

“The Jedi Council believe I am nearly finished with my training,” Anakin explains, relieved that Padme doesn’t doubt his skill, as he previously thought. “This mission is to be a test of my growth as a Jedi. If I pass, the Council will allow me to take my trials to become a full Jedi Knight.”

Padme’s eyes light up, and she pulls him into a tight hug that Anakin will certainly not refuse. “Congratulations, Ani!” She exclaims. “I’m so happy for you!”

“T-thank you.”

After she pulls away, Padme gets to her feet, offering Anakin her hand, a mischievous quirk to her lips. “Come along then, Knight Skywalker. I have a fair bit of packing to do, and it would be good for you to familiarize yourself with the luggage you’ll be carrying on our trip.”

He takes her hand, and allows her to pull him up after her. “Lead the way, my lady,” he replies.

As she pulls him into her chambers, his hand drifts absently to his side, and the scar hidden beneath the thick fabric of his tunics. It is an old, nervous habit now, one he can never break. That day in the incinerator feels like a bad dream, now, neither hide nor hair or the strange man in the Mandalorian armor recorded in any databank across the galaxy since that fateful day. Still, Anakin knows he will return, one day.

 

Perhaps one day soon, as they make their way back to Naboo, where it all began.


	4. Chapter Four: Attack of the Clones Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very sorry for the break in my updates. I’ve had...a miserable few weeks. But it’s fine! It’s mostly sorted out now, and so we return to our regularly scheduled program.

When it comes to laying low and hiding out from politically-fuelled assassination attempts, there are worse places to do it than the villa at Varykino. Anakin should know: this is hardly his first experience with such things. The rolling plains of Naboo’s lake country are paradise in comparison to the dust and sand of Tatooine, and the the warmth of Naboo’s summer sun is certainly several steps above the frozen wastes of Hoth.

The villa sits perched on the edge of a wide lake, a lone monument to humanity in the vast, rolling countryside. The deep blue waters sparkle under the warm sunlight, and small waves lap gently at the sandy shore. Thick grass ripples in the wind, entrancing, bringing life to the emerald green hills. The air carries perpetual sweetness, untainted by the pollution of Coruscant’s bustling cityscape, and at night, the stars shine so brightly Anakin feels he could almost reach out and touch them. The light pollution on Coruscant blotted out everything but the planet’s moons; Anakin has not seen a night sky so brilliantly clear since the cool, Tatooine nights of his youth.

Over the course of their stay, most of their days are spent within the walls of Varykino. There is much work to be done on Padme’s counter to the Military Creation Act, despite how long she has already been working on it. In the political arena, words are ammunition: each sized up and selected with careful diligence. One slip of the tongue or clever turn of phrase could lead either to victory or undoing. Padme is far more adapt in this arena than Anakin, but he does his best to led assistance when she needs it. He listens carefully as she goes over a dozen wording of the same phrase, offers his advice on which sounds the best, praises her liberally for every sentence they finalize together. It’s certainly not work he could ever see himself doing.

But they can not spend all their days locked up in the villa, beneath the watchful eyes of guards and handmaidens. Some days, the warmth of the Naboo sun calls to them, the gentle breeze rolling in through the open windows impossible to ignore. They have responsibilities, yes, but they are still young. Young, and maybe a little in love, Anakin allows himself to think in his more fanciful moments. When he allows Padme to take his hand and drag him out the grand doors, out into the rolling plains and beyond the gazes of their caretakers. They are young, and the time to themselves is a much-needed break from the stress of their lives. More weighs on their shoulders than has been spoken between them, and there’s a wonderful simplicity to life beyond the walls of Varykino.

Today, Padme brings with them a basket filled with a packed lunch and a soft blanket to lay upon. There is plenty of mischief to get up to, despite the isolation. Herds of shaak roam the countryside, bulbous yellow creatures that tolerate Anakin’s wrangling of them with all the grace of animals who would much rather be left alone. Padme laughs with delight when they throw him from their backs, tumbling into the soft grasses and laughing with her as the shaak scatter. The waters of the lake are cool, and at the height of the day are wonderful to splash around in to escape the heat. Afterward, they have lunch, lay on the blankets Padme packed, and dry in the sun while they watch the clouds drift across a vibrant blue sky. Their thoughts drift with them, despite their best intentions. The oncoming war always lurks in the backs of their minds.

“How are your Senatorial duties?” Anakin asks. “What are they like, compared to the responsibilities of a queen?”

Padme frowns up at the clouds that roll by, picking absentmindedly at the grass beneath her palm. “It has its challenges,” she confesses, voice quiet. She would never allow anyone else to see her doubt, but Anakin is someone safe. He keeps her secrets as she keeps his: to the grave, if they must. “I have experience in the political arena, but the people and things I face in the Senate are so different from what I experienced here on Naboo. I’m trying to do what’s best for my people, and for the galaxy, but some of the men and women I oppose cater only to their own interests and concerns. They care nothing for their own people, let alone the galaxy at large.”

“Have you spoken to the Chancellor about your concerns? Surely if anyone could help and understand, it would be him.”

“We’ve spoken on several occasions, but they haven’t been terribly productive meetings. He is as much at the mercy of the Senate as I am. Even with all his power, this is still a Democratic Republic. He cannot just undo what the Senate votes in favor of.”

“Like the army,” Anakin deduces. It is the matter that has worried Padme most, in the recent weeks. The Republic has not had a standing army in thousands of years, and Padme feels it should remain that way. That those planets aligned with the Separatist cause should be allowed to go in peace, or that someone should at least ask why so many worlds are so eager to jump ship from a Republic that’s stood unchallenged for thousands of years.

Padme grimaces, tearing a handful of grass from the earth and casting it aside. “Yes, like the army.”

Silence falls between them, after that, both lost in their own thoughts. The consequences will be great for both of them, should the Military Creation Act be passed. Padme, whose people have only recently recovered from one conflict, will be forced to send Naboo back to war. To untold casualties, families and her planet torn apart once again. Nowhere in the galaxy will be safe from conflict, with the sheer number and spread of planets eager to side with the rising Confederacy. And Anakin...

“The Jedi will be expected to fight,” he admits quietly. “I’ve heard Obi-Wan talking to the Council at night, when he thinks I'm asleep. They’ve already been approached by the Senate; if it comes to war, they want the Jedi to lead their troops.”

“But the Jedi are—”

“Peacekeepers?” Anakin interrupts with a sad shake of his head, rolling over onto his side to look at Padme. It is easier to confess his suspicions here, away from the Obi-Wan’s watchful eyes and his reassuring smile. When there is no one here to tell him he’s just imagining things, and that everything is going to be fine. “Maybe before the Sith. But since Master Jinn died, it feels like the Jedi have begun to stray. They aren’t...like the stories I heard as a child.”

Padme rolls over, too, her nose nearly brushing Anakin’s, they’re so close. A few locks of hair, pulled free from their style during their splashing in the lake, fall into her face. “You’re afraid,” she says. It is not a question.

“Of course I am,” he replies. “Aren’t you? I became a Jedi to help people. I didn’t sign up to go to war, and I’m certainly not meant to lead troops!”

Anxiety twists at Anakin’s gut, and he tastes bile on his tongue. The thought has kept him awake many nights since he first overheard Obi-Wan’s conversation with the Jedi Council. Jedi are trained in tactics, in combat, in war, but these were meant to be lessons about a bygone era. A less civilized age. It is one thing to simply sit in the cockpit of a podracer, and another entirely to fly it through the veritable death trap of Beggar’s Canyon. Anakin imagines war to be very similar, in that regard.

“Neither did I,” Padme confesses. “And yes, I am afraid, but I know that I'm doing everything in my power to prevent this war from happening. And I know that if it does...I know I'll have friends like you to support me through it. The burden is easier to bear, when you share it.”

She reaches out, then, her fingers tracing gently along the line of his jaw, fiddling absently with the padawan braid that hangs just beneath it. Grounding his spiraling, anxious thoughts. “I know that you’ll always protect me, Anakin.”

There is such confidence in her words, in the intimate whisper between them, that Anakin can not doubt her. For a moment, filled with whimsy, he can almost believe that perhaps this was the very reason their paths crossed, so many years ago. To keep Padme safe, and watch her grow. Watch her lead the Republic into a new and rightful era of peace.

Anakin would die for her, he knows.

He thinks he leans in first—or maybe it was Padme—but the first brush of their lips is a hesitant thing. Careful, and cautious, as though to give the other a chance to back away. But neither does, Anakin couldn’t even imagine such a thing, and the next time things are far more certain.

Obi-Wan would not approve, Anakin knows, as Padme straddles him, and as he guides her fingers in the process of undoing the many layers a Jedi wears. There is friendship, and then there’s more, and as she pushes him down and he feels the soft blanket against he bare back, Anakin knows that this is much, much more. More than he ever expected to have, and more than he knows he ever should. It’s taboo: against the Code, and against the trust Obi-Wan placed in him when he sent Anakin ahead alone.

When Padme kisses him again, he finds he doesn’t much care.

It’s easy to let him be consumed by the temptation: by the curves of her body beneath his palm and the intoxicating taste of her lips on his. To reach behind her and find the fastenings of her dress, fumbling with them in his eagerness. Her outfits are a struggle to get on and off even when you can see what you’re doing; doing so by feel alone proves to be even more difficult.

Padme giggles at his frustrated groan, pushing up off his chest to sit on his hips, and Anakin has to bite down hard on his lip to smother the moan the added friction brings. She reaches behind her, undoing the various ties and clips with nimble fingers, and her sleeves slide down her shoulders as her dress loosens, exposing the tops of her breasts to Anakin’s attention. Never one to miss an opportunity, he leans up, peppering her neck and the newly exposed skin with a series of quick kisses that send her into another fit of delighted laughter.

“Anakin!” She fondly chides, pushing him down onto his back once again. “I thought Jedi were known for their patience!”

“You can hardly blame me for being eager,” he replies, momentarily surprised by the huskiness of his tone.

“Good thing to those who wait, Ani,” Padme purrs, and with a shrug of her shoulders, slides her dress the remainder of the way down her arms until she can pull them free. They do not fear being caught here; Anakin can sense no other sentient beings for miles. The fabric pools around her waist, exposing the full swell of her breasts to the open air, and Anakin’s breath catches in his throat at the beauty of her nakedness.

Despite the earlier teasing about Anakin’s eagerness, the pace they set is slow and luxurious. There is no need to rush; they have nowhere else in the galaxy to be. No one in the galaxy to answer to. Not until Obi-Wan finds and apprehends the assassins who threatened Padme’s life, anyways, or it comes time for the vote on the Military Creation Act.

So they take their time, exploring one another’s bodies under the warmth of Naboo sun. Slow as Padme kisses down the plane of his stomach, drawing him out of his trousers and taking his length into her mouth. Bringing him to the edge with a skill that speaks of practice. Anakin might have been angry at the thought of another lover in her bed, if not for the heat of the blood in his veins and the pounding of his heartbeat loud in his ears. What matters most, he thinks fervently as her bobs along the length of his shaft, is that she is here with him, now. That her dedication to him outweighed that to whatever men had made their way into her bed, over the years.

He is not quite so experienced as her, but Padme is confident, and knows what she likes. She guides him breathlessly as he works her open with fingers and tongue. Like this, or like that. Just here, Anakin. Her pleasured gasps and moans, her manicured nails scratching at his scalp, chase thoughts of armies and war from his mind.

And when he finally slips inside her, it is unlike anything he has ever felt before. Pleasure races up his spine as they find a rhythm between them, Padme rocking into his gentle thrusts. As before, there is no need to rush. There is only them, and the intimate new connection between them as they pant and gasp each other’s names beneath the vast Naboo skies.

“It’s okay, Ani,” Padme tells him, gently lacing their fingers together. “You can let go; it’s okay.”

Afterward, they lay tangled together on the blankets, and Anakin finds that he believes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How sweet. I do hope nothing terrible happens. That would be a real pity, wouldn’t it.


End file.
